Tim Stevens - Delivering Caliban

‘Girl.’ Rachel slid on to the couch beside her. ‘You stay as long as you want. And listen. Let’s get this straight, right now. Do I believe there are three or four guys following you? I don’t. But I believe you did notice someone staring at you — a creep, or a nice guy, who knows? You’re a pretty girl — and it’s freaked you out. That I can understand, and that’s enough for me.’

Nina nodded. She didn’t say thanks for being honest , which was what she wanted to say, because the next thing she’d blurt out would be but what if they come looking for me here .

Rachel put a hand on her back. ‘Haven’t seen you in a month. You been okay?’

‘Till this morning, yes.’

Rachel lived with her boyfriend Kyle, a games designer, in a two-bedroom apartment in Greenbrier. Nina had spent the better part of two hours crossing and recrossing the city, on foot and by bus. Every time she thought she was clear there’d be a glimpse again: a suited man in silhouette against a window, a human shape ducking back out of sight behind a corner. In the last quarter hour the glimpses had gone.

Rachel was between jobs and, luckily for Nina, was home. Her eyes had flared in alarm when she’d opened the door to Nina’s knocking. She’d seen Nina once before like this, after her grandmother’s death when the Watchers had reappeared and crowded closer than ever against the invisible glass enclosing Nina’s life. On that occasion Rachel had taken her in for a week, nursed her back, persuaded her to see the doctor and accept meds, at least in the short term. The doctor had wanted to refer her for follow up, had urged her to start on a regular course of antipsychotics, but as always she’d refused.

In the kitchen now, Nina helped Rachel prepare the evening meal, tossing salads and chopping vegetables. Rachel glanced at her from time to time, not often enough to make her feel uncomfortable. At one point she said, ‘Are the voices back?’

‘No. Not this time.’ Nina managed a smile. But she wondered if it was only a matter of time. Usually the voices came first, warning her she was being watched, before the fear set in. Sometimes it was one voice, a woman’s; sometimes a man’s voice would join in. They never addressed Nina directly, but always spoke about her as though she wasn’t there.

Through the kitchen door came the sound of keys in a lock and a man’s voice: ‘Hey, babe.’ Nina gasped and dropped the colander she was holding, leaves and tomatoes exploding across the floor. Rachel hurried to her, wrapped her in her arms.

Kyle came into the kitchen, loose-limbed and rangy, his pony tail swinging. ‘Nina! Great to — ’

He caught Nina’s eye across Rachel’s shoulder, grimaced in concern.

Rachel gave him a swift, undramatic summary. Kyle nodded throughout, watching Rachel and Nina in turn, with none of the embarrassment others might have shown.

Supper was at six, burritos loaded with everything Rachel could find in the refrigerator. Nina’s appetite was huge, as it often was to her surprise at times like this. It was as though her body was preparing itself for a fight. Kyle cracked open bottles of Mexican beer. Nina declined. Booze never helped: the fear only expanded and her ability to cope with it diminished.

Afterwards they lounged on the eclectic sprawl of beanbags and couches that made up the living room furniture and chatted about Kyle’s work, Nina’s playing, Rachel’s as yet unsuccessful attempts to find a new job. For a while it was as though circumstances were normal, as if they were a trio of old friends simply catching up after a long separation. The evening drew in, the daylight contracting and the shadows spreading across the room as the sun worked its way behind the apartment block.

Nina realised suddenly that she didn’t have any extra clothes, or a toothbrush. Nor did she have a plan. She could stay with Rachel and Kyle one night, two, a week — and then what? Home again, alone, each creak on the landing outside her door, each glance from a stranger in the street sending her running in terror?

Maybe it was time, at last, to consider meds. She hadn’t done any research in the area for over a year; there might be new products available, ones that didn’t impair your dexterity, make your hands shake. She’d have that talk with Rachel tomorrow, perhaps, when they were on their way to Rachel’s latest interview. Tonight was for burrowing down, feeling comfortable and comforted, protected from the darkness.

Kyle asked her opinion on a selection of soundtrack options for a new role-playing game he was developing. One of the pieces in particular unnerved her: it sounded like a sample of Penderecki’s Threnody For The Victims Of Hiroshima laid over a grinding industrial beat.

Rachel seemed to sense her discomfort because she sighed, ‘Jesus, Kyle, turn that shit off.’

He rolled his eyes at Nina and clicked on to another track.

The knock came at the door, four raps, firm but polite.

Nina felt her abdominal contents squeeze upwards, compressing her chest. Kyle and Rachel glanced at each other.

‘Damn Bobby’s forgotten his keys again.’ Their neighbour across the hall. Rachel rose, went down the tiny entrance hall to the door.

Nina sat frozen while Kyle noodled about with his laptop, though she could tell he was listening hard.

Rachel appeared at the door again, a slight frown around her eyes. Quietly she said, ‘There’s three men out there.’

Nina’s innards were forcing their way up through her throat now.

The knock came again. ‘Ms Rachel Carver?’

The apartment was in her name, Nina recalled distantly.

She was aware she’d said something but wasn’t sure Rachel had heard, so she repeated it: ‘What do they look like?’

Rachel stepped into the room, her voice low. ‘Hard to see through the fisheye, but one’s tall, tan, dark hair. They’re all in suits.’

‘That’s him.’ Nina was on her feet now, swaying with the suddenness. ‘The guy from campus.’

For the first time, ever, Nina saw doubt in Rachel’s face. Not quite belief, yet.

The knocking was harder now, less patient.

‘Ms Carver, please open the door. Federal agents.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Kyle stared at them in turn, then strode out of the room. He turned not towards the front door but the bedroom.

Rachel called after him, ‘Whoah, hold on, Kyle.’

Nina swallowed, her throat raw and crackling.

Five seconds later Kyle emerged, right arm raised, a gun gripped in his knuckly fist. Rachel hissed, ‘Oh God, Kyle, no.’

His jaw was clenched, his eyes scared. He jerked his head at them.

‘Stay back.’

Nina wondered if there was marijuana in the apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time.

From out of sight she heard Kyle at the door: ‘Show me some ID.’

More distantly still came an older man’s voice. ‘Who are you?’

‘None of your god damn business. Hold up some ID.’

‘Sir, this would be a whole lot easier if you opened the door — ’

‘This conversation’s over.’

‘All right.’

There was silence for a beat. Kyle came back into the living room.

‘Looks like FBI. Guy’s name’s Claymore.’

His eyes were still frightened. Nina wondered if he’d ever fired the gun before. He didn’t look as if he knew where to point it.

‘Ask him what he wants,’ murmured Rachel. She grabbed Nina’s hand, squeezed it.

Nina pulled away, stepped over to the doorway and peered round to hear better. Kyle had his eye against the lens in the front door again.

He said, ‘What’s your business? I’m not opening the door till you say.’

‘We have a warrant for the arrest of Ms Nina Ramirez. We believe she’s in the apartment with you.’